


Purpose (an Expatriate remix)

by Derin



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Animorphs Remix Challenge, Gen, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Derin/pseuds/Derin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a remix of Expatriate by ChiropteraJones (http://archiveofourown.org/works/722563/chapters/1340228), done with permission as part of the Animorphs Remix Challenge. The original is better than this, but here we go.</p><p>When it was all over and his world was in ashes, Yanzin 849 of the Sulp Niar pool chose to remain on Earth. Can he remain unchanged, and what purpose does his life have now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChiropteraJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiropteraJones/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Expatriate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/722563) by [ChiropteraJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiropteraJones/pseuds/ChiropteraJones). 



“Hey. You.”

Yanzin 897 of the Sulp Niarr pool pondered running, but he knew it was already too late. In the moment it had taken him to consider the situation, a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"I've seen you around a fair bit," the man who'd spun him said, grabbing his shirt. "What's your name again?"

"None of your business," Yanzin said, even though he knew it was pointless.

"I bet we can guess," the other man said. "It's got numbers in it, right?"

"You're not welcome here, slug," a third said.

So. Three of them. It didn't really occur to Yanzin to think it was unfair, but he did feel a cowardly trembling of fear. This wasn't the first time such a thing had happened; the last time had been pretty bad, but this was possibly going to be worse.

He didn't wait for them to get tired of their threats; the best defence against the creeping fear was to just cut past it all and throw a blow at the one holding his shirt. The man swore and let go. Yanzin swung his elbow into the face of one of the men behind him, kicked at someone else, aimed another blow...

Yanzin did know something about fighting, although most of his had been done as a hork-bajir controller. He no longer had any weapons, though, and there were three of them anyway, so his efforts were more or less pointless. But that was probably for the best. He'd tried not fighting back before, and that just made them angrier. And if he did successfully defend himself... well, he could just see the headlines. _Yeerk assaults three in park. New concerns over yeerk integration as aliens turn violent._ Winning would probably just make things even more dangerous.

They left him lying against the wall, a dizzy ball of pain. He thought he heard one of them say "And that's for...", but he didn't catch the name that followed.

Once he was sure they were gone, he gathered his wits and sat up. His head was spinning, and it didn't seem like it was going to stop. Everything hurt. _The pain is not yours_ , he reminded himself out of habit, pushing it away. _It is only the host. You are not hurt. The pain is not important._ Thinking of it in that way had always helped. But of course, then he remembered that this pain actually _was_ his, and it was his permanent body that had been damaged. He couldn't push it away then.

Yanzin didn't really know much about human bodies yet, and it was sort of difficult to assess the damage. He was pretty sure it wasn't as bad as last time, though. The thought didn't really help. One of these days he was going to get killed, he just knew it, and quite probably nobody would even care.

What was he going to do now? It was hard to think. He couldn't just sit there. He wouldn't be able to get all the way back to the apartment, he managed to reason. Therefore, he should keep going and get to work.

His left wrist ached sharply, and between that and his dizziness, it was very difficult to get to his feet. He realised that he couldn't see properly; everything was fuzzy. He supposed it would pass. He could probably avoid traffic and he knew which direction work was. That would have to do.

He stumbled on towards work. Luckily he didn't have very far to go, but as he walked, he began to be seriously afraid that he'd taken permanent damage. The dizziness wasn't going away, and neither was the fuzziness.

He reached the back entrance. In a moment or so he'd have to go in, he supposed; he hadn't really thought about anything beyond getting there.

The door swung open, and someone came out.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed when he saw Yanzin. "What happened to you?"

Yanzin squinted at him, and thought he recognised him as a co-worker. The short, cheerful young man with floppy brown hair. Yanzin didn't know his name. "I was attacked," he said. "Obviously. If you could open the door for me, that would be nice. I really need to sit down."

"Shit," the man said, taking him in with round eyes as he swayed. "You look like you're about to collapse." He moved forward and sort of hovered, as if he wanted to offer a shoulder but wasn't sure it was such a good idea. He knew what Yanzin was, of course. That news hadn't taken any time at all to spread. Humans gossiped just as much as yeerks did, and with even less purpose. "And you're bleeding."

"Yes. I know," Yanzin snapped. "If you aren't going to help, go away."

"Um," the young man said, looking at him. "I think you need a doctor. Do you have a car?"

***

"I'm James Michelson, by the way," the young man said. "Call me James. I don't think we've really met. Your last name's down as 'Sulp Niar', right?"

Yanzin grunted. Water dribbled down his elbow and soaked into his knee as he sat in the front seat of James Michelson's car - he held a leaky zip-lock bag full of ice cubes to his forehead with his right hand. It wasn't really helping. "Yes. Pool name."

"You still dizzy?"

"Yes."

"Still can't see?"

"No."

"Shit. Well. I'm sure you're fine."

Yanzin closed his eyes. He wasn't sure of any such thing. Wouldn't it be miserable to be stuck in a permanently damaged body, on top of everything else? James had peered at his eyes nervously and muttered something about a concussion. He did remember a starburst of pain as his head had hit the brick wall. He thought he had been blind for a second there.

"So, Mr Sulp – look, that name's kind of unwieldy," James said apologetically. "Do you have a first name you wouldn't mind me using?"

Yanzin resettled the ice pack. "There's no need. Just say 'yeerk' or 'slug' and I'll know you're addressing me."

James sighed. "Mr Sulp Niar it is, I guess," he said. "Do people really – Never mind. Does this happen a lot to you?"

Yanzin took the icepack off his head, where it wasn't doing any good anyway, and put it on his left wrist. "It has happened before, yes." He stared out the windshield, watching the blurry coloured lights zooming past.

"I – I'm sorry. I guess."

Sorry? Yanzin thought scathingly. Don't lie because you think it's polite. You aren't sorry. And if you are, it's because you're ignorant.

"I guess people are still angry," James said, in such a stupidly thoughtful way that it made Yanzin want to hit him. "It hasn't been all that long, you know."

Yanzin let out a furious breath. "Yes. They are," he said. "And it hasn't."

James seemed to get the hint that Yanzin didn't want to talk about it and lapsed into a somewhat awkward silence. Yanzin let him. A few minutes later, they pulled into the hospital car park, and Yanzin fumbled for the door handle.

“You should get back to work,” Yanzin said as he managed to get the door open. Speaking slowly as if the words burned his lips, he added, “Thank you.”

James shook his head. “I'm coming in with you. You can barely see or stand. You're not going in alone.”

“You'll get in trouble with the boss.”

“For a medical emergency? He'll understand.”

Yanzin doubted that, but it was pointless to argue. If James wanted to be late to work, well, that was his business. The let the young man help him find his way inside and didn't object as he sat in awkward silence with him in the emergency room. Only when a nurse showed up to run Yanzin through the usual procedure of questions rattled off by indifferent doctors, tests and slapdash medical care did he leave.

Yanzin knew the routine by now. They'd look him over, do some tests, and at some point stick him in a room and tell him not to fall asleep.

At least then he'd be able to get some peace.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yanzin. I told you to go shopping today."

Yanzin didn't turn to look at the young woman who'd just strode into the lounge of their little house, partly because he was hoping she'd go away and partly because it hurt to move too much. His broken arm was safely encased in plaster, but there was nothing to be done to protect the various aches and twinges in his ribs and gut. That was one of the annoying things about human bodies – they were so complicated. They were hard to hurt, but they could be hurt in so many different ways. The doctors at the hospital hadn't offered pain medication when they discharged him, and he hadn't asked for it. It didn't really matter.

"Turn that stupid music off, Yanzin, I'm talking to you."

Reluctantly, Yanzin bent and switched off the shiny black CD player by his feet. He did enjoy some types of human music. It was soothing. He would never have attempted to explain that to Minsath, though - she would stare him down with imperious eyes and probably despise him for the rest of their interactions.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You were supposed to go to the store and buy food today," Minsath repeated. "You didn't."

Yanzin sighed and let his head fall back against the cushions. "I forgot. I think it's understandable."

"Forgot!" She was livid. "What do you mean you forgot?"

"I just – it just didn't occur to me. I'm sorry."

"Well!" Minsath said sarcastically. "I'm sure we can rest easy, knowing that if Yanzin doesn't do something it's only because he forgot. It's not as if he has anything more important to be doing."

Yanzin twisted in the chair to face her. Minsath's human body was quite a bit shorter and frailer than his own, as human females tended to be, but that meant nothing to either of them. The very first thing she'd done after she, Yanzin and Arodin, all strangers at the time, had been assigned to their new human home was ask Yanzin and Arodin what rank they'd been. They had both been significantly lower than her, of course.

He knew that she could see his split lip and bruised face from where she was standing. He also knew that that, too, meant nothing, at least to her.

“It's a little difficult for me to carry things anyway,” he pointed out. He lifted up his arm, encased in the white plaster cast, and waved it at her. "Why couldn't you do it?"

"Because I told you to do it."

"Yes, but why? It would be much easier for you to do it," Yanzin said. He didn't know why he was pressing the issue. You never won arguments with Minsath.

"I don't see why I should have to pick up the slack because you've incapacitated yourself," she said now. "Like the fool you are. Idiot."

This was a sentiment he'd heard a couple of times already. "Just drop it, will you?" Yanzin groaned. "I'm not the only one who's been beaten up. You've dealt with this too."

"It doesn't happen to me as much," Minsath said pointedly. "And I walk away without managing to break my arm and get a concussion. I have to wonder if you aren't doing something stupid to attract the attention. In any case, stop trying to change the subject," she said. "You disobeyed me."

"Disobeyed, Minsath?" he repeated. Another thing about human bodies, a thing that seemed to catch him off-guard a lot of the time, was how much pain and anger could influence their behaviour. Yanzin knew that he should just shut up. Just apologise meekly, let her berate him for a bit, and let the whole thing pass. But he couldn't. "So what will you do? Are you going to have me shot? Have me demoted? Are you going to report me to your superiors for punishment, Minsath?"

Minsath's voice was quiet. "What was that?"

Yanzin gritted his teeth and stood. "You heard me just fine," he said. "What are you going to do about it?"

She stared at him from across the room, her eyes narrowed. It seemed strange that the so very human expression could fit the yeerk she once was so perfectly that her soft human clothing didn't seem to suit her. At least, Yanzin assumed she'd been the same as a yeerk. He hadn't known her at all until they'd been randomly assorted into the same house, the new humans being put in groups of three or four, presumably to save on housing space.

"That's what I thought," Yanzin said, lightly, after a few long moments. "Nothing. You're not going to do anything about it. Because there isn't anything you can do."

"Insubordination, is it?" she hissed. "You think you can disrespect your superiors? You think you can blatantly disregard the- "

"I have no superiors," Yanzin shot back at her.

"Oh, I understand," she said sardonically. "Authority is chafing a bit, is it? You're sick of discipline and obedience. You'd rather be like the humans, with their inane notions of equality and their idle, weak willed disorganisation! Quite the cowardly little rebel we have here!"

"Authority?" Yanzin said. He threw his good hand out in the air. "What authority? You're not a Sub-visser any more, Minsath! You have no authority! You're just like me!"

"Like you?" She laughed shrilly. "No, my sad, pathetic little underling, I don't think I'll ever be like you. You're defeated. You're finished. The humans have managed to break you. You can't see the point to anything any more and you want everybody else be like you!"

"I'm not pathetic," Yanzin said tightly. He found himself walking towards her. "You're hopelessly deluded. You pretend that you're in command here because you just can't bear the truth: that you're finished, you're a prisoner, and you only live on humanity's mercy! Just like everybody else!"

"You're a traitor," she said, stepping forward. "You betray everything we are by your weakness!"

"I'm no traitor!"

"Face it, Yanzin," she said, stabbing her finger into his chest. "You're just. Like. Them. You're weak. Your cowardice and disloyalty would bring the Yeerk Empire down!"

Yeerk Empire? What Empire?

“I'm going for a walk,” Yanzin said tightly. He strode past her to the front door.

“It'll be dark out soon,” she warned him.

“People don't seem to have any problem attacking me in broad daylight,” he shot back. “What does darkness matter?”

It was, in fact, getting dark, and the air had started to acquire that chill, shadowy quality that appeared in the evenings. Yanzin had never been sure whether that was a smell or a lighting thing or just a feeling. He also didn't know whether normal humans felt it, or if it was just an ex-yeerk thing. Or maybe just a Yanzin thing.

Being human, properly human, was different, somehow, to having a human host. It had taken Yanzin a little while to put his finger on exactly why. It wasn't just that he missed his own body – and he did, even though both the old Empire and their new human handlers acted like you weren't supposed to think things like that – and it wasn't just the lack of host memories, although he'd never really appreciated how useful those were until they were gone. It was that hosts came with a life, a purpose. As an agent of the Empire, a yeerk had a job, a purpose. Their host had whatever job or purpose they'd had before becoming a Controller, and all the yeerk needed to do was not screw that up too badly. But after the war? In his own human body, on Earth? Yanzin 897 had no Empire to serve. Yanzin the human had no life. How did humans do it? How did they know what they were supposed to be, without the command structure of the Empire to tell them? And why couldn't he seem to do it himself?

The social services people had found him a house and a job. It was hard to know what else he could ask for, beyond more pleasant housemates. But somehow, it didn't feel like enough.

Not for the first time, Yanzin wondered what would have happened if he'd not become human, if he's instead gone back to the homeworld. What would that have been like? Living in a pool, never leaving the planet... well, it wasn't like he was ever leaving Earth again anyway, was it? A planet was a big place. Of course, their defeat in the war had left yeerk government somewhat gutted. There was probably a new Council of Thirteen by now. Probably several, vying for planetwide recognition. There might be a different form of government altogether. Or a war. Yanzin was pretty sure that war hadn't really been a thing for yeerks until they encountered andalites, but once something like that was tried once it might be there forever.

He wondered what modern yeerk society looked like to yeerks who had never left the homeworld, who weren't involved in the war. Inexplicable chaos, probably.

The sky began to darken, and the hairs rose on Yanzin's unplastered arm. He liked the feel of cold on his skin, as strange as it was. But then, everything about human senses was strange. Instincts could only take one so far when they were pitted against years of memory of being in a yeerk body.

“Hey.”

Yanzin jumped and turned to face the speaker; a woman who looked a little older than his host. Her clothes were ragged, and there were deep shadows under her eyes. Her hair was matted into little strings that hung just past her shoulders.

“Hey,” she said again. “You got a light?”

“A light?” Yanzin stepped back, glancing about for other people. One woman probably wasn't going to attack him, although if she did he probably wouldn't to be able to defend himself all that well, injured as he was. But if there were others...

“A light,” the woman repeated. She stuck an unlit cigarette between her teeth. “I can't seem to find mine.”

“Oh. No.” Yanzin relaxed a little. “I don't smoke. Sorry.”

“You're one of them, aren't you? Them yeerks.”

_Stupid. Never, ever relax._

“I need to go,” Yanzin said quickly. He glanced about again. How far had he strayed from his house? Too far to run back, in his condition. He'd just have to hope he wasn't followed. “Sorry.” He turned and headed off, as briskly as he could while trying to appear casual, and didn't turn to look back at the pair of eyes he could feel boring into his back.

Stupid. Stupid.

Stupid anger. Stupid human instincts. A yeerk wouldn't head out somewhere alone on purpose. A yeerk wouldn't deliberately stray from their unit unless they had to. A yeerk wouldn't defy their commanding officer like that and then run off. And he was going to have to deal with the consequences now. Minsath couldn't actually do anything to him (unless she intended to physically assault him, but he doubted that would even occur to her), but he'd made an enemy of her by challenging her. He'd insulted her competence as leader. She'd never been friendly or pleasant, but being treated like an incompetent underling was better than being treated like an active traitor.

But Yanzin had listened to his new human instincts, like an idiot. And now he was out alone in the dark.

He went home, as quickly as he could. He avoided Minsath. He went to bed.

He pulled his covers up over his hands and tried to pretend that they weren't trembling.

Minsath thought he was a coward, a traitor. Yanzin had long since come to terms with his own cowardice, but a traitor? He wished that she was right. It would mean that there was something left to betray. A Sub-visser serving a temporarily inconvenienced Empire instead of an overbearing housemate lost in her own petty re-enactment.

Maybe it would be easier to pretend. To act like he was still a servant of the Empire. To live the rest of his life in the hope that it would come back. He could apologise to Minsath in the morning for his behaviour. He could beg for her mercy; that might make her happy. He could work and watch and wait for things to make sense. He could let random beatings in the park be enemy action, let purposeless drifting between work and home be infiltration. Even doing something stupid was still doing _something_.

But the empire was never coming back. Maybe, back on the homeworld, society would stabilise and a new Council would, at some point, overwhelm the andalites keeping them in and once again make a bid for the galaxy. Maybe the handful of yeerks who'd taken off into space with an escafil device and some portable Kandrona generators would raise an army and come back. But not any time soon. Probably not within Yanzin's lifetime. If a Yeerk Empire ever came back to Earth, it would be to an Earth without yeerks already on it. They'd be long dead.

_I'm not weak. I'm not broken. I'm not pathetic. I'm not a traitor._ Under his blankets, Yanzin clenched his fists together.

_I'm just being realistic._


	3. Chapter 3

“So.” The human behind the desk shuffled the pieces of paper in front of her and looked over to cross-check against her computer screen. “You’re still staying in the same place?”

“Yes.”

The office was small and tidy. A nondescript picture of a beach hung in a frame on one wall. Yanzin was sitting in one of two simple chairs in front of the desk. Air-conditioning hummed and made the air feel dry and clinical, the antithesis of the crisp moist air following a winter sunset. Yanzin just wanted to get this appointment over and done with.

“Still with...” She read from the file in front of her. “... Minsath 639 and Arodin 140?”

“Yes.”

She gave Yanzin a level look across the desk, then sat back in the chair. The letterhead on her papers said ‘Department of Alien Integration’. “How are things going?” she prompted.

“Fine,” Yanzin said. He stared straight ahead across the desk, his right hand on his knee, not deliberately making eye contact but not avoiding it either. Hopefully it was making her uncomfortable.

“Not having any problems?”

“No.”

She eyed his cast. “What happened to your arm?”

“It’s broken.”

“I can see that,” she said patiently. “How did it happen?”

“I was thrown into a wall.”

She pressed her lips together and began scribbling a note on Yanzin’s papers. “So, you were attacked? When did this happen?”

“Yes. A bit over a week ago.”

A frown appeared between her eyebrows. “Did you go to hospital? It’s not in your file, and they’re supposed to inform...”

“I did.” He watched her writing. “Guess they lost the paperwork.” He smirked, amused. _This is just like old times,_ he thought.. _Nobody knows what anybody else is doing._ In human society, though, people were less likely to be tortured and/or executed due to misfiled reports. Maybe they would have fewer mistakes if they did it the yeerkish way. He considered making this observation aloud to the woman, but decided not to.

“Did you inform the police?”

“No.” Yanzin failed to see what that would have achieved. He didn’t imagine that the humans in the police force or the justice system were any more kindly disposed to his kind than the average human was. He'd be lucky to avoid ending up in a cell himself, for 'disturbing the peace' or something similar. A pretty large proportion of the police force had been Controllers.

“Would you like –”

“No.”

She sighed. “I really must insist on hearing the details, I’m afraid. Do you want to start at the beginning and describe what happened? Where were you?”

“No. Just leave it.”

She looked exasperated. “Yanzin, we are required to report these things. How are we supposed to help you if...?”

Yanzin scowled and stood. “You can’t help me with this. Even if you wanted to, which you don’t, really. Have you asked all of the questions on your little sheet of paper?”

“Yes, but – ”

“Then I think I can go now. Yes?” He stood waiting, staring straight ahead again.

“No,” she said, suddenly stern. “Yanzin, sit.” She pointed at the chair.

Yanzin shifted his gaze to stare down at her. So this was what he was reduced to? Taking orders from a pathetic human professional busybody?

“I have had just about enough of you,” she told him. “Helping you is difficult enough as it is, but every single one of you yeerks that I’ve dealt with today seems to have their heart set on making as much trouble as possible. You will sit and you will cooperate, like you agreed to do when we let you stay on Earth.”

Yanzin clenched his teeth. What could she really do to him? The human disciplinary system was practically toothless. He doubted he’d get any sort of serious penalty just for disobeying this pen-pusher.

 _You used to be better than this,_ an inner voice told him. He sat down.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice softening. “Start at the beginning, please.”

Yanzin sighed and recounted the event, as briefly and clinically as possible. The woman took notes and made a small tsk-tsk noise when he was finished.

He was so tired of this – of her and people like her pretending that they cared, wanting to know anything and everything about his life. The humans kept tabs on all of them – where they lived, what jobs they had. It was surprising Yanzin had as much freedom as he did. It was actually more freedom than he’d had his whole adult life.

He ought to be grateful.

“I’ll report this for you,” she said.

What did she want, thanks? “If that’s all, I’d like to leave now,” Yanzin said.

“Just a minute.” She sat back and looked at him. “Do you have anything else you wanted to talk about, Yanzin? Any problems, any developments? Met anybody new?”

“Not really.”

“It’s only that you’ve been assigned to me for the last year, and I don’t think anything at all in your circumstances has changed in that time.” She glanced at the screen. “Except for incidents like this one.”

Yanzin kept his face blank.

She sighed and hit a key on the keyboard sharply. “That’s all. Remember, your next appointment is on the third. Until next time, Yanzin.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He stuffed his free hand in his pocket as he walked through the waiting room. Someone else was sitting there; an apparently human youth slouched sullenly in one of the chairs. She and Yanzin made eye contact briefly as he passed. He didn’t smile and nor did she, but she nodded in acknowledgement.

He headed for the train station, walking quickly as if leaving the building behind would help somehow. Much to his annoyance, the integration officer’s words had managed to get under his skin. He didn’t need or want her pity.

 _Nothing in your circumstances has changed_. He ran over the words in his mind as he watched the scenery slip past the train window. _It’s been how long now? Two years?_ Two years since his whole world had fallen, in more ways than one. _Has it really been that long? ‘Nothing in your circumstances has changed’._..

What was he supposed to have changed? Sure, he supposed he could have got a better job than he currently had. But what was the point to that? He wouldn’t enjoy it any more, and he wouldn’t be any better at it. The truth was, Yanzin didn’t think he had any skills that would be very useful in this new post-war world.

He could change where he lived. Maybe that was an idea. Still seemed pretty pointless, though. Could he even live alone? Somehow, moving away from the people he'd been assigned to live with, actively moving into human society, felt more like giving up than his present circumstances did. He knew they'd lost. He knew they were alive at the mercy of the victors. But he didn't have to like it.

He caught sight of a vaguely familiar face at the train station. If he hadn't seen her the night before, he probably wouldn't have remembered her. But the woman with the scruffy clothes and stringy hair was leaning against a wall, openly watching him. She gave him a little wave.

He turned away, intent on ignoring her, but he'd had about enough of mystifyingly curious humans for one day. Her spun back towards her and marched over. “Are you following me?” he asked without preamble.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Broken bones heal.”

“Not what I meant.”

Yanzin narrowed his eyes. “You're not a yeerk.”

“Nope.”

“Then why do you pretend to care? Is this some kind of cultural thing?”

The woman put a cigarette between her lips. She proffered the packet in Yanzin's general direction. He shook his head. She shrugged and lit the cigarette.

After a long drag she said, “You remind me of an enemy of mine.”

Yanzin laughed humorlessly, sending pain shooting through his ribs. “Not a good opening line.”

“You started this conversation. Not me.”

“Stop following me.”

“So you can go get yourself killed?”

“Why do you care?”

“Somebody's got to, and you clearly don't.”

Yanzin closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. The woman was grinning when he opened them again. Her teeth were really bad, he noticed. “Leave me alone,” he said flatly, “or I'm calling the police.”

“Did you call 'em on whoever did that to you?” She indicated his arm with one hand.

Yanzin heard his train pull up behind them. Without bothering with a goodbye, he spun on his heel and marched over to catch it. He quickly found a seat, one of the few tasks made easier by being visibly damaged.

“Hey! Um, Sulp Niar dude! It is you, right?”

Yanzin turned his head, startled. Who on earth would be...?

James was standing in the aisle at the end of the carriage, waving at him. He saw Yanzin’s face and smiled. “Oh, it is you! Sulp Niar, right?”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Yanzin muttered as James came down the carriage, dumped two large plastic shopping bags on the seat behind him, and fell into the seat beside Yanzin. Yanzin moved his arm out of James’ way automatically.

“Been shopping on my way home,” James said, breathlessly. “Hi.”

Yanzin stared at him. “What?”

James’ smile faltered. “You recognise me, right? I didn’t think your head was that out of whack...”

“My head is fine,” Yanzin said. “I know you. I just don’t know why you’re sitting next to me.”

The smile reappeared. “I wanted to ask how you were,” James said. “I haven’t seen you since the hospital. So... Broken?” He pointed at Yanzin’s cast. He had made noises about staying the other night, but Yanzin had thanked him brusquely and walked away.

“Why do people keep asking that?” Yanzin said. “No. I wear the cast because it’s so much fun. Yes, it’s broken. And yes, I had a minor concussion, in addition to a number of other minor injuries. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“You’re OK now, right?”

Yanzin nodded slightly.

“Wow, it’s awful, you know, you getting attacked like that,” James said. “Kind of scary. I didn’t think our area was that bad for that sort of thing, you know?”

 _Scary? Don’t be ridiculous,_ Yanzin thought. _It’s perfectly safe for you._

“I still feel kind of bad about not staying,” James went on. “How did you even get home? I should’ve stuck around at least until I knew you were OK. It wasn’t a problem, like with work or anything.”

Yanzin was beginning to regret allowing James to approach him, although he wasn’t sure exactly he could have done to stop it. Well, what he could have done that was appropriate, anyway.

“I managed,” he said vaguely. He’d had to call Minsath to pick him up; she was the only one of them with a car. That hadn’t been a fun conversation, or a fun drive home.

“I told Alex where you were and everything, I hope that’s OK,” James said. “Concussion, huh? Damn.”

“Only a very minor one.”

“Still, that’s awful. I’ve never had a concussion before. Are you sure you should be around and about?”

“It’s gone now,” Yanzin said. “I’m fine.”

“Ah, I see. That’s good.”

James finally lapsed into silence. He turned and rummaged around in his shopping bags for a while, and Yanzin returned to looking out the window. He found himself returning to the integration officer’s words again. It was true: he had done nothing for the last two years. Even she could tell. Maybe everyone could tell. He thought of Minsath’s words: _The humans have managed to break you._

“Oh, hey, Sulp Niar...” James stumbled over the name again. “What stop do you get off at?”

“Yanzin,” Yanzin said irritably.

“Huh?”

He sighed. “It’s Yanzin. My name.”

The human grinned and stuck his hand out like he wanted Yanzin to shake it. “Yanzin? Cool. James.”

Yanzin wondered if maybe he was broken. Was this what being broken felt like? He’d had a broken host before, so he really should be able to tell. Somehow everything was a lot more complicated looking at it from the inside.

He considered himself seriously. Perhaps he was.

After several long, strained seconds, he took James' hand in his own good one. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, without an ounce of sincerity. The train trundled on, closer to home, closer to somewhere he could be alone without anybody expecting him to engage them in conversation.

 _Withdrawn. Touchy but not aggressive. Disinclined to act_. If a host behaved towards him the way he was behaving towards the world...

“Say, me and a couple of the other guys from work are going out for beers tomorrow night,” James continued. “I was wondering, well, nobody seems to know you that well. Maybe you should come with us? Get to know everyone a bit better?”

“Okay,” Yanzin said.

James blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Sure. Why not?” Yanzin didn't speak the words with any enthusiasm, but James' grin widened. He seemed to like grinning a lot.

“Great! I'll, uh...” he quickly wrote an address and time on a piece of paper and pushed it into Yanzin's hand. “I'll see you then. This is my stop. Gotta go!”

Yanzin looked at the bit of paper in his hand, and pondered the possibility that it was some kind of trap. He decided it didn't matter; he probably wouldn't go anyway. The only thing that seemed more pointless than James' inane train chatter was inane chatter with several other people at the same time, while ingesting toxins. He shoved the piece of paper into his pocket.

Arodin was home when Yanzin arrived. He was lying on the couch, reading a book. Yanzin didn't bother to read the title. Arodin didn't look up or acknowledge Yanzin when he walked in. That wasn't unusual.

“Hey, Arodin?”

“Yes?”

“Is Minsath home?”

“Not yet.” Arodin turned a page.

Yanzin bit his lip, realised it was a somewhat embarrassing human habit, and made himself stop. “Can we talk?”

Arodin glanced up, saw Yanzin's expression, and reluctantly closed his book. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing like that.” He swallowed. “Do you ever think about moving out of here, moving somewhere else?”

“No. Why?”

Yanzin shrugged. “Just something the integration officer said today. It's not important.”

“You're right. It isn't.” Arodin opened his book again.

Yanzin felt a jab of irritation at Arodin's dismissal, then another jab of irritation at his own feelings. Since when did he care about such things? They agreed there was nothing to discuss, they stopped talking. Yanzin narrowed his eyes. “Actually, any changes to our residence is kind of important.”

“If you intend to move, it's important,” Arodin said without looking up. “If your integration officer wants you to move, it isn't. Humans say stuff like that. They try to make you a story.”

“What do you mean, a story?”

Arodin carefully put his book down, and went to grab another from his bookshelf. He held it out to Yanzin. “Here, read this.”

Yanzin frowned at the title. _The Thief of Always_. “Why?”

“Because it's a children's book, so it's an easy place to start. I could give you any book on this shelf and it would make the same point, though. It's the story. Humans are obsessed with it. Person is called to confront a problem, person fails at first, person strives and grows and develops, person overcomes problem, saves a lot of people and probably finds a mate. They all try to make it happen to themselves. They see somebody not trying to follow the story, it makes them uncomfortable. So they try to make you strive for things, even pointless things.” He turned back to his book. Yanzin let him be.

Maybe that was the secret; figuring out humanity and then ignoring them. He fished James' bit of paper out of his pocket. Why not? Even a stupid purpose was a purpose. Drinking beer with a bunch of humans wasn't going to achieve anything, but neither was sitting at home staring at the walls. He couldn't be a yeerk any more, not really. Why not go and poison himself in a crowded place for no obvious reason, like a human?


	4. Chapter 4

Yanzin went to work the next day. He did his job with his normal unemotional perfectionism, speaking to his coworkers as little as possible. They'd all gotten the message that he wanted to be left alone pretty quickly, and apparently it had taken a vicious assault to convince an of them to talk to him for any amount of time. Nobody asked about the cast on his arm, and he didn't volunteer any information. James had probably told everyone about it already anyway.

James found him as he was clocking out. “You still coming out with us?”

“Yeah, sure.”

His characteristic grin made another appearance. “Great. Need a lift?”

“Why not?” Yanzin had given up asking why James was so interested in talking to him and taking him places. No amount of protesting seemed to dissuade him, and there was no more sense in trying to extricate himself from the situation than their was in trying to avoid attackers. He got into James' car without complaint. James tried to strike up a conversation, but after several flat, one-word answers from Yanzin, gave up.

The bar was crowded, dark and smelled of smoke and alcohol, even though you apparently weren't supposed to smoke inside. Yanzin had no idea why somebody would choose such a place over the crisp open air, but the music was okay. The place wasn't particularly stressful. He'd been in crowded transport ships before, ships full of other jumpy hork-bajir-Controllers getting ready for combat, and they'd smelled worse. He could handle a bar. James introduced him to a few of their coworkers, people with faces that Yanzin vaguely recognised but names he hadn't bothered to remember. They greeted him with friendly caution. He nodded in response and accepted a beer.

It tasted terrible.

“Yanzin!” James patted him on the back as he choked and spluttered. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He put the beer down before he could spill it and took a deep, calming breath.

“What happened? You choke?”

“No. This tastes terrible.” He took another sip, this time prepared for the taste, and forced himself to swallow.

For some reason, his coworkers found this extremely amusing. “You've never had beer before?” one asked, laughing.

“No.”

“Oh, man. You've been missing out.”

Yanzin seriously doubted that, but saw no reason to argue. He drank more of the bitter fluid, doubly mystified. Deliberately drinking poison was strange enough, but deliberately drinking poison that tasted terrible? Humans were all crazy.

“We should get you something fancier,” another coworker, whose name Yanzin had already forgotten, said decisively. “We need to properly introduce you to the world of alcohol.”

Yanzin glanced between the strangely interested, amused faces all watching him, and felt a chill go down his spine. He didn't know exactly what they were trying to do or why, but he recognised a trap when he saw one. Why did they want him to drink alcohol with them? He had nothing to offer them, beyond the amusement they so evidently derived from his presence. At least they didn't seem intent on hurting him.

He put the beer down with a firm thud. “No, thank you.” He stood and walked out, half-expecting them to follow and corner him. But they let him go. He breathed a small sigh of relief as he made it through the door.

He took the train home. Thankfully, nobody tried to talk to him.


	5. Chapter 5

“You're gonna get yourself in trouble again, walking around alone at night.”

Yanzin jumped at the voice in the dark and spun to face the string-haired woman. She was leaning casually against a fence, watching him as he made his way home from the train station.

“You're still following me?”

“Don't look at me, I was already standing here. Maybe you're following me.”

“Whatever you're trying to achieve, you're wasting your time.”

“That's what time's for. What else am I going to do with it?”

Yanzin frowned. There was humor in the woman's eyes, but he didn't get the joke. Apparently it was laugh-at-Yanzin day.

“Look, I get it. You were a Controller, you have unresolved issues, so now you... what, follow random yeerks who remind you of yours and harass them? Is that what this is about?”

“You don't remind me of my yeerk. She was a total bitch. If I ever met her again I'd punch her right in her smug stolen face.”

“Then I don't...”

“You remind me of me.”

“We're not alike. You're a human.”

“So are you, now. Aren't you?”

“I'm... well...”

“What? A yeerk without a body or a culture? A human without a past?” The woman stepped forward, towards Yanzin. “They took you, gave you a choice that wasn't a choice with hidden clauses that you couldn't see and that nobody would explain, and committed a quiet, 'compassionate' genocide. Your people are new to this, but mine aren't. Humans have been doing this to each other since before recorded history. Frankly, you're lucky you found our planet first. If this had've happened on your homeworld, it would've been worse. They stuck you in a new culture, in a new life, and said 'you're one of us now, you have to behave like this'. But you're only _really_ a human when it suits them, and you're a yeerk when they want to scream the word at you but you can't really be a yeerk, and they call this destruction mercy because hey, you're not dead. You get to participate in this grand culture. Nobody ever asks anybody if they want to.” She pulled a cigarette from her carton, stuck it in her mouth, and lit it. “Is that about the long and short of it?”

“You couldn't understand. Why are you trying to?”

“Because I'm a human, unthinkingly treating you like me and blaming you if you're different. It's what we do.” She took a drag on the cigarette. “You're right though, I can't understand and I couldn't help you, even if you wanted me to which you clearly don't. Neither can whatever poor soul they've got trying to 'integrate' you.”

“Thank you for your clear analysis of my situation. I'm aware that nobody can help me and pretty much anything people try to make me do is a waste of time. Now kindly leave me alone.”

“I didn't say nobody can help you. I said no human can help you.” She dug into her pockets and pulled out a piece of paper; a crinkled, worn pamphlet. She handed it to him.

He glanced down at the title. _Welcome to The Sharing_!

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

The woman shrugged. “Empires fall easily. Organisations don't. They're yeerk-only these days. A kind of support group, to help each other out, give advice, new homes or jobs, that sort of thing. Yeerks helping yeerks.”

“And you just... what, go around dropping pamphlets for a group you're not even allowed in?”

She shrugged. “I don't have a house or a job. Might as well do something worthwhile with my time.”

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up. You think a war stops when the fighting does? This is written over and over again in our history. The scars last for generations. You – well, maybe not you, I don't know your life, but yeerks – are gonna have kids someday, with each other and with humans. Do you know how to raise kids? It's not something that yeerks do, is it? You think those kids are gonna think of themselves as normal humans? They're not. They're gonna identify with their parents, their heritage. That's gonna cause problems, and if they didn't, that'd frankly be worse, because it would make the genocide complete. Go to the yeerk group, or don't. It's not my business. But they're the only people who can help you. My kind? They'll break you, and they won't even know that that's what they're trying to do. They'll do it with kind words like 'integration' and 'assistance' and 'sensitivity'. And the whole time they'll tell themselves they're helping you.”

Yanzin swallowed. “Why do you care? You said yourself that you hated your yeerk. You should hate us all.”

“I 'should' feel whatever I want to, mister. But it don't matter if I like you or not. All sentient beings should have basic rights, and basic rights are more than just food and shelter. They don't apply just to people I like.”

Yanzin pushed the pamphlet into his pocket without reading it. “Thank you,” he said.

Then he turned and ran towards home.

A yeerk support group? He thought of Minsath, trying to keep the empire alive within the confines of their home. Wouldn't pretty much any yeerk group become like that? Of Arodin's advice about humans. _'They try to make you strive for things, even pointless things'_. How much could he trust the motivations of a random human woman?

His breath was tearing raggedly through his throat by the time he got home. He leaned against the door for a few moments to catch it, and nearly fell when it was opened from the other side.

“Good, you're home.” Minsath frowned at him. Yanzin was still very much in her bad books from his outburst a week ago. Minsath didn't forgive quickly or easily, though she hadn't mentioned the situation again, and he hadn't been able to bring himself to apologise. “You're dinner's in the kitchen. I'm going to bed.” She didn't ask where he'd been. She didn't care.

Yanzin ate without paying much attention to the food. Taste had once been so exciting to him, almost as exciting as sight. But the novelty had worn off, and it seemed a poor substitute for moving through a nice, thick pool, absorbing Kandrona rays in the company of his fellow yeerks. The borrowed senses of a host were all well and good, but he didn't think any of them were prepared for the shock of giving up their own bodies permanently. He couldn't be the only one who missed it. He couldn't be sure, because nobody was supposed to talk about that sort of thing, but...

He dug the pamphlet out of his pocket. Who decided what they were and weren't 'supposed' to talk about? Humans, trying to make them either be human or leave forever to make themselves more comfortable? A dead Empire? Yeerks like Minsath, refusing to adapt to the situation at hand?

Yanzin didn't know who he was any more, or what to do about it. But he definitely wasn't alone in that feeling. And maybe some people were choosing to run away from the situation, but others...

He smoothed the pamphlet out and looked for the group's contact details. It was entirely possible that The Sharing would be a complete waste of time, a bunch of people trying to recreate the Empire or sitting around crying about their feelings or something. But there was no harm in looking.

And if it turned out to be rubbish, well, a purpose was a purpose.

Even a stupid one.


End file.
